


The New Normal

by sssouthsideserpentine



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, house party at reggie's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssouthsideserpentine/pseuds/sssouthsideserpentine
Summary: An ill-timed party brings two sides together and an unfortunate interaction sparks an unlikely friendship.
Relationships: Sweet Pea (Riverdale)/Reader, Sweet Pea (Riverdale)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	The New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> My first real attempt at a reader insert fic,, send me your thoughts and hit me up on tumblr!

**You met him at a party.**

It was a misplaced exhibition of grandeur, planned with juvenile good intentions and the thought that most problems could be solved with Pabst Blue Ribbon or a few shots of New Amsterdam. It was ironic, really. The Southside of town goes up in the flames of gentrification and everyone’s first thought was _“Who’s throwing the kegger?”_ .

It was for the hope of normalcy, to stand with false confidence in the backyard at Reggie Mantle’s house and drink piss-water beer out of a plastic cup as too much bass reverberated though the sea of underaged bodies surrounding you.

You’d done it a dozen times.

But now, boys from both sides of the tracks were getting shot, or preyed upon by the music teacher. _Miss Grundy_. With her kind eyes and her misplaced authority, she fulfilled desires of tasting the unripened fruit. It was three weeks after she ‘mysteriously’ left school when she was found dead, strangled with her own cello bow. Throat slit. Three blocks away from your front door a self-righteous killer planned out how he sought sinners to claim repentance.

You sat in a discarded lawn chair, away from the masses, thoughts awash with the green eyes of the Black Hood, the crucified figure of Midge Klump onstage for the whole town to see. It almost made you want to laugh, Midge finally getting the attention she always wanted.

The goosebumps start to raise on your bare arms as you recline against the cold back of the chair and it makes you start to sip faster on your vodka cran, relishing in the warmth that pooled in your stomach, and wondering if home would ever be “normal” again.

_Or was it ever normal to begin with ?_

Over the beer pong table you watched a group of jocks tense up, Bulldogs with their feathers ruffled like yardbirds that were scared of a stealthy outdoor cat. You stood up in search of a spectacle, as well as a refill, and made your way through the sliding glass door and into the expensive dining room. Reggie’s house was huge: all high ceilings and grand entryways, furniture that looked pristine and untouched. Lively, sweaty bodies were packed into the house and causing the walls to sweat with smoke-riddled condensation.

You waded through the masses, getting elbows jabbed into your ribs and beer spilled onto your suede boots, but finally you made your way to the kitchen.

Perched atop the polished granite counter was Veronica Lodge, with Archie Andrews tucked in between her bare thighs where her plaid skirt had ridden up. You watched them as they whispered sweet nothings into each others ears, with loyalty and love in their bleary eyes.

She leaned down to kiss him, her inkjet-black hair spilling over his forehead, obscuring his own mop of red waves; _the balance between dark and light._

Past the kitchen was the entryway. A gaggle of broad-shouldered boys stood face to face, their expressions hard and their voices laced with malice:

“You Snakes got a lot of nerve coming onto Bulldog territory” Moose Mason said through gritted teeth.

“We’ve got as much right to be here as you do, _Moose_ ” One of the Serpents, Jughead Jones responded arrogantly, shoulders relaxed and head held high. The expression on his face said something like _make a move, I dare you._

The Serpents vs Bulldog feud was age-old, and mostly everyone was tired of the incessant turf war between the two groups. Northsiders like the Bulldogs had it easy because their families had money and they could live comfortably, if not lavishly. They were a bunch of student athletes with roid-rage who decided that it would be entertaining to pick a fight with the kids who grew up below the poverty line.

Residents of the Southside of Riverdale were at a disadvantage: their side of town was run-down and covered in graffiti tags, with the chain-link fences falling down and the weeds overgrown. It was the little things like that which differentiated the two sides of the same coin. The North side was well maintained, with workers paid to upkeep the lawns and hedges throughout town, or to scrape the gum from the sidewalks. The town’s budget for education was split unevenly, which left the students of Southside high without computers, instead relying on aged textbooks and aged information. On the news you often heard about the kids that took Jingle Jangle in the hallways, or got in knife-fights in the parking lot, or how when Mayor McCoy had the police raid the place, they found a meth lab in the basement. It was a bad school, to say the least.

_Not by choice. Everything about this town was a product of circumstance._

There was no question that the more affluent people in town found the Southsiders to be burdensome:The Northsiders were more than open about their disdain for them. They were worried that their school systems were getting muddied up, that test scores would start going down due to the delinquency of the unconcerned students who transferred to Riverdale High after Southside High was forcefully shut down. They locked their car doors every time a motorcycle pulled up next to them, women held their purses a little closer to themselves any time somebody donning a Serpent jacket was in their vicinity.

And though tensions ran high, nothing could bring two sides together like a party could. Right?

_Funny._

There was a bitter irony in the situation. The Serpents lose what little they had, Sunnyside Trailer Park going up in flames and the Whyte Wyrm being bought out by the Lodge family, and yet the Bulldogs still thought that a turf war was appropriate.

In a fight, your money would be on the Serpents any day, though. They were scrappy — well-versed in the art of street fighting, with or without brass knuckles and a switchblade. They were a real gang: with an intense initiation process and laws to be abided by. It was about loyalty and respect. The Serpents did whatever they needed to do in order to ensure that all of the Southside residents were taken care of and for this you couldn’t help but admire them.

_Plus, they had cooler jackets._

You mind your business though, not wanting to be in the middle of the fight that would inevitably break out. You’re in the middle of refilling your beverage in the kitchen (probably making it a little more heavy handed than you anticipated) when Archie breaks away from Veronica, running to be the mediator yet again.

Veronica smiles curtly at you, the only other person in the kitchen, and for a second it looked like she felt guilty. _Maybe._

You send an uneasy smirk in her direction and start slinking your way into the backyard once more, crossing your fingers that no one had stolen your seat. Quickly turning the corner, you plow into the chest of an unsuspecting party-goer.

“God DAMN it!” they grumble angrily, looking down at their shirt, which was now soaked with your vodka cranberry.

“Watch where you’re going next time…” you mutter, shaking sticky drops of cranberry juice from your hand, finally looking up at whoever you had just accidentally accosted.

**That’s when you saw him.**

_Sweet Pea._ It was misnomer if you’ve ever heard one: equal parts loyalty and anger, he was chaos. Something like black leather and bruised knuckles, the sound of a motorcycle engine turning over. Or the feeling of being on the wrong end of a strong right hook. He was everything you weren’t, and everything you were told to be afraid of.

He was a cool, tall drink of water; six-foot-something and he towered over you just enough to make it so you had to crane your neck in order to look him in his cold brown eyes. With his face etched with frown and worry lines, you could tell that his hard expression was a trained one. It was almost like he practiced it in the mirror, like if he looked menacing enough no one would be able to mess with him. If he built up his walls high enough, no one could ever break them down.

Plus, he was a Serpent: a gang member with a motorcycle and a penchant for fighting. Despite all of this you couldn’t see a reason not to like him. Just because he was from the Southside didn’t mean you should treat him different. You hoped that no one would treat you differently based on where you lived and how you were brought up, but you knew that your situation was vastly different from Sweet Pea’s.

“Watch where _I’m_ going?” He questions “Sweetheart I was standing completely still, _you_ ran into _me_ ” he pointed out, a flirtatious smirk playing on the corner of his pretty lips.

You looked him up and down, noticing the snake tattoo that adorned his neck, and the way that you could see the outline of his muscles through the pink-tinged wet mark on his white t-shirt. Knowing that it was your fault, you relented, not wanting to face the wrath he was so infamous for.

“You’re right, I’m sorry” you sigh, looking up at him innocently through your curled lashes. “I think I have a way to make it up to you, though” You add, feeling an onslaught of alcohol-related confidence.

His eyes widened, clearly taken aback by your bold statement.

“And what exactly did you have in mind?” Sweet Pea asked, studying you carefully.

You reach into the small black purse that was resting at your hip and retrieve a sizable joint, rolled tightly with white paper. You hold you hold it out to him with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Now what’s a pretty little girl like you doing with stuff like this, hmm?” The aura of cockiness was thick around him, it was as if any little interaction with him was a challenge. He started undermining you the first moment he laid eyes on you.

_You couldn’t have that, now could you?_

“Pretty girls like me could do a lot worse,” You promised, crossing your arms over your chest. You weren’t doing it protectively, though. Unlike most people, you didn’t fear Sweet Pea.

And you could tell that it pissed him off.

“You coming, Southside?” You prompt, throwing the question over your shoulder as you push off from your spot against the wall in order to make your way to the backyard.

“Yeah, uh” Sweet Pea coughed awkwardly, “Right behind you”. He took a long stride in order to open the sliding glass door for you.

_How gentlemanly of him_

The two of you walked through the masses of students playing King’s Cup and quarters, past a gaggle of girls you would consider to be your friends on Monday through Fridays, from 8am to 3pm. You rarely hung out with them after school, even rarer on weekends. But they gave you a place to sit during lunch and a friendly face to talk to during passing periods, and that was enough for you.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Your ‘friend’ Carrie called out to you, attempting to wave you over to join the group. She was a polite blonde, a nice girl, with a big house and a big yard where her big dog would run around as her rich parents took conference call after conference call over happy-hour margaritas under the veranda.

You waved politely, face unwavering as you pulled a lighter out of your jacket pocket. Carrie pushed herself out of the tight-knit group and sauntered up to you, looking oddly over at Sweet Pea. It was apparent that she was refraining from making a snide comment about the Serpent standing next to you, but was too polite to vocalize it.

“What’re you doing?”Carrie asked, _very pointedly you might add_ , raising her sculpted brow at you.

You shrug, scuffing your boot over a discarded cigarette butt. “About to smoke a joint with my new friend here,” You can tell that both Carrie and Sweet Pea were taken aback by your loose usage of the term ‘friend’.

“ _Come hang out with us,_ ” She tried to coax you grabbing your hand asweak attempt to pull you away from the boy she so obviously found unsettling.

“I’m okay, I’ll see you around” You ripped your hand away, stepping closer to Sweet Pea and pulling the joint out again from your purse.

Carrie wrinkled her nose, sighing before walking back to the group. You can feel the multiple pairs of eyes on you as she whispered about how you were hanging out with a _Serpent_ , out of all people.

“You should go with your friends.” Sweet Pea states. It was dismissive and cold, as if situations like this were something he was used to.

You put the joint between your lips and spark it, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke before answering; “They’re not my friends…” You divulge, walking through the gravel side-yard to sit down on a lonely garden bench. “Plus, I told you I’d make it up to you for spilling on you”

Sweet Pea chuckles lowly, a gravelly sound that came deep from his chest, filled with resentment. “What, Northsiders don’t all stick together?” The way he was looking at you made your cheeks flush, though you blamed it on the alcohol that was coursing through your veins.

You shake your head at him, handing the joint over. He hesitates for a moment, as if it was unsure of why you were being so welcoming to him. There were a certain number of predetermined assumptions attributed to him: the Serpent, the Southsider, the poor kid, the gang member.

But there were assumptions you knew he was making about you to: Northside, rich girl, artificial.

“There’s more to people than where they live, you realize that, right?” You look up at him from your seat on the bench. He took a deep inhale, clenching his jaw as he blew smoke upwards.

“Seems like you’re the only one around here who seems to believe that, (Y/N)”

**That was the first time he said your name.**

You weren't sure if he knew your name beforehand, or if he learned it that evening. The minute the word leaves his lips your breath catches in your throat and your blood runs hotter than usual. You wished he would say it again and again.

“Is that so wrong of me? To think that?” You ask meekly, in earnest, unsure if your optimism was a product of the privilege you had.

Sweet Pea’s eyebrows furrow together as he pondered the question. He sat down on the bench next to you, the cold leather of his jacket hitting your bare shoulders and making you intake a sharp breaththrough your front teeth.

“Not wrong, no…hopeful. A little hope could do us all some good, I guess.” He laughed, passing the joint back to you.

It got quiet after that. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, at least not to you. This had been your only real interaction with Sweet Pea; spilling your drink on him, exchanging bitter words about sides, talking about hope. He didn’t seem as bad as his reputation made him out to be. He was jaded as all hell, it was true, but the more you spoke to him the more it made sense.You decided to break the silence:

“So what’s your story?” You ask suddenly, as if you were stunned by the sheer volume of your voice. The weed made you lightheaded and giggly, made your motions feel languid and you couldn’t help but kick your toes at the pieces of loose gravel.

Sweet Pea looks over at you, rubbing a large hang over his bloodshot eyes and smiling so that his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “My story?” He laughs, looking at you as if it was crazy to be asking about his home life, or his interests.

“Well if there’s more to people then where they live, we gotta start asking more questions, ya know?” You look over to him and he giggles again. “I just wanna know” You shrug off the comment, stomping out the joint and tossing it aside in a terra cotta pot that housed a long-dead plant.

“There’s not much to me,” Sweet Pea says quietly, his voice carried away on a bitter breeze that raised goosebumps on your bare arms. You rubbed your cold hands over your cold arms, hoping that he would offer up his jacket but knowing that the likelihood of that was small.

You weren't in just yet, and you didn't expect to be. Sweet Pea had little reason to tell you anything about him; you guys weren’t actually friends — you spilled a drink on him and offered some weed as an apology. Idle conversation didn't warrant personal questions, but there was _something_ about him that made you want to keep trying.

“I think there’s a lot more to you than you’re giving yourself credit for,” You look at Sweet Pea from the corner or your eye, bumping him playfully with your shoulder and making him crack a smile. “You don’t have to tell me, though. It’s fine”

It _was_ fine, too. The look on his face made it seem like he was surprised that you didn’t keep pushing your questions on him. Maybe he wanted you to keep pushing.

Maybe he was thankful that you didn’t.

The comfortable-maybe-uncomfortable silence sets in again and the two of you are watching the beer pong game from afar. Reggie Mantle was on a team with Archie Andrews and the two were in a heated debate with Chuck Clayton and Moose Mason about getting their cups re-racked. It looked like it was getting a little bit heated, and you couldn't help but laugh after Sweet Pea makes an offhand comment about how the Andrew’s kid’s face was almost as red as his hair.

You both watched a group of Vixens holding each other’s hair back as they vomited up orange-tinged jungle juice. The sight of it makes you childishly cover your eyes with your hands, prompting Sweet Pea to laugh maniacally. He nudges your knee with his and you peek out at him from between your fingers.

“Some party, huh?” He asked with an awkward cough-laugh.

You look around again, noting all of your classmates having a good time, despite the obvious tone of unrest in town. “It’s bullshit” you reveal, and judging by the expression on Sweet Pea’s face, you know that he’s taken aback — this wasn't the answer he anticipated from you.

He didn’t say anything in return, but you just _knew_ that he agreed.

“People fucking died, your friend was shot. People lost their homes, so why are we all trying to get drunk and act like everything is normal? Just because we start ignoring all of this shit, doesn’t mean it’s not there, you know?”

“I know, trust me…” His voice was hard and suddenly you think that you’ve done something wrong.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth to start back-tracking, a girl’s voice rings out from across Reggie’s backyard:

“Hey Sweet Pea! Get your ass over here, we’re up for BP! Gotta knock these Bulldogs down a peg”

Toni Topaz. She was five-foot almost nothing, but she had attitude to boot. One of the Serpent girls. You assumed that Sweet Pea would get up and go to her in an instant, leaving you alone and cold over in Reggie’s discarded side yard.

**But he didn’t.**

He turned to you nervously, hands twitching idly at his sides as he stood up from the bench. “You comin’ Northside?” He offers his large hand out to you and you take it, with something like excitement pooling deep in your stomach.

You couldn’t help but get nervous as you were led closer to the group of Serpents, pulled through the crowd by Sweet Pea who was a few paces ahead of you. They were all gathered by the big table, clad in their jackets and their tattoos worn proudly as their eyes shifted from face to face _just in case._

These snakes really did travel in packs.

“Who’s this?” Toni asks explicitly, gesturing to you with a flick of her chin as she tucked a strand of dyed-pink hair behind her ear.

“Oh, uh…” Sweet Pea cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked at the faces of his expectant chosen family. “This is (Y/N). My… _friend”_

Toni nodded slowly, as if she was trying to come to terms with the concept. But sh smiled at you, extended her hand to shake politely.

After the death (not death) of one of their finest members, the Fogarty kid, it was obvious that everyone was on edge. It was obvious that just like you — just like everyone else— the Serpents were trying to feel normal again. Was it possible to bounce back after losing almost everything they had?

_That was the million-dollar question._

Things were different in town now. Tensions were at an all-time high, prejudices more obvious now than they were before.

But you were here. At Reggie Mantle’s house, drinking piss-water beer out of your plastic cup as too much bass reverberated from the shitty speakers. And you were here with Sweet Pea. And the Serpents. Maybe things would be different on Monday but for that moment, you were friends.

And that was the best thing you could ask for.


End file.
